


They love it more when it's broken

by VileVenom



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VileVenom/pseuds/VileVenom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin screamed as he fell through the bright, blinding light, his arms flailing out to try and catch something-anything to keep himself from continuing his decent to no avail. </p><p>*mild spoilers for old oak doors*</p>
            </blockquote>





	They love it more when it's broken

**Author's Note:**

> The Kevin in this would be based of off [Carro's](http://goddess-in-green.tumblr.com) Kevin, which is the one I play [over here](http://strexperiment626.tumblr.com), if you're interested.
> 
> This is literally just some stream of consciousness writing I did because I felt the need for Kevin feels.

Kevin screamed as he fell through the bright, blinding light, his arms flailing out to try and catch something-anything to keep himself from continuing his decent to no avail. The collar around his neck flashed with each unapproved emotion that coursed through his body, failing in its duties to keep a smile on the radio hosts face. It was too much-too sudden, too unknown. Too different from what the drugs and training had taught him the world should be like.

When he hit the soft, but dense shift of sand he let out a pained grunt, his impact leaving a crater in the dune. He laid prone for a few long minutes, his body unwilling to obey his mind; the command to rise and move. He coughed as he was finally able to convince his muscles to roll him onto his side, his body shuddering as he half curled into a ball, his body wracked with pain he didn’t recall being able to feel before.

Slowly he pushed himself up, slipping and sliding over the sand he’d landed in, falling more than once for his troubles. Finally, though, finally he managed to bring himself to the top of the dune, finding himself in the middle of the vast expanse of a desert wasteland, much like the one he’d heard being described not long ago on Night Vale’s community radio show.

With a groan, he took a stumbling step forward, eyes squinted against the light, his collar long having given up working against him since his landing in the sand. It was nothing more than a thick piece of gaudy jewelry now. It was nice, if in an unpleasant way, he reflected, to be able to make an expression that wasn’t just a smile. To show his bitterness and anger on his face as he trudged through the other world he currently found himself in.

He let out a angered shout as he ripped the collar from around his neck, the metal shattering under the force of his fingers, before he flung the broken machinery into the distance.

He staggered as blood began to run from the fresh wounds on his neck from where his collar was once attached, a properly twisted grin spreading his lips as he drunkenly stumbled forward. He laughed, tilting his head back to stare up at the blinding light that was slowly engulfing the desert, the loss of blood slowly making him woozy. He didn’t think he could die from blood loss, but wouldn’t that just be the kicker. Finally breaking free of the monsters that had captured him and being able to think for himself, only to bleed out all over the sand under the light of the damnable smiling god.

He fell to his knees with a wheezing laugh, a hand shakily moving to try and stop the blood that was still oozing from his neck, his vision growing blurry. This truly was his luck, wasn’t it?

He collapsed onto his side as his muscles finally gave up supporting him, little wheezing breaths leaving him as the world began to darken around the edges. Oh, how he craved for the bliss of sweet, enviable darkness.

A small frown formed on his face as blurry figures came over the top of a dune not far away, one tiny among the rest, which began to run towards him as he came withing their sight. It was shouting something at him, something about staying awake.

A quiet, but genuine laugh left his lips as the figure came to a stop in front of him, his head being lifted into a soft lap as the person-because it was a person at least, fell to their knees next to him. He let out a sigh and let his eye lids drift shut, figuring that if he was going to die, at least it was not at the hands of some doctor with a scalpel.

A soft curse near his ear, and a cool, but firm pressure against his neck told him that, perhaps, someone did not want him to die like this, though. Either way, at least his mind was his own for the first time in as long as he could recall. Perhaps, if he did survive, things would change. He could change. The world could change.

Wouldn’t that be nice.


End file.
